


revelations

by Cypherr



Series: Hollow [20]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, Good Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Protective Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Stockholm Syndrome, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Vilbur, Villain Wilbur Soot, We still healin bois, aftermath tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cypherr/pseuds/Cypherr
Summary: "He likes to change the rules. Disobedience means punishment. Punishment means- I don't like respawning, dad. It hurts."
Relationships: TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Hollow [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958773
Comments: 15
Kudos: 388





	revelations

**Author's Note:**

> the story is coming to a close somewhere soon, here. We're in the endgame now. It won't be all sunshine and rainbows, but I do promise a happy ending  
> ALSO //CW// this chapter is very food-focused

It was strange, being carried in his father's arms again. He was sixteen now, and taller than him, but Phil still managed to lift him; his arms around his neck, legs around his waist. He knew it was childish- he was a big man, after all- but he felt safe, and loved, and he hadn't had anything of the sort for longer than he'd care to admit. He could hear Phil's heartbeat, strong and steady, and the arms around his backside felt secure instead of suffocating- like _his_ had been. He could feel Techno's and Dream's stares as they passed in the hall, but he didn't care. He had his dad back- his _safety_ back.

He was sat on the granite countertop by the stove, the stone cool underneath hum a stark contrast to the bodily warmth he'd grown used to. Sitting there, watching as Phil set about gathering ingredients, he could almost convince himself that he was a little kid again, being carried from his room in the morning and set to watch his dad work to make breakfast for them all. It ached, not quite pleasantly, but it wasn't horrible. It was bittersweet, he guessed. But, he didn't complain. He swung his legs aimlessly, making sure to avoid the oak cabinets beneath, and tapped his fingers on the granite, the rhythm familiar, though he couldn't put a name to it.

"Do you want eggs?" Phil turned to him, a small smile gracing his scruffy face, shoulder length blonde hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Tommy thought for a moment, the smell of waffles and sweet berries cooking enticing his senses already. He shook his head, still not quite ready to talk. Phil murmured his assent, reaching up to ruffle his hair. Tommy giggled despite himself, a grin managing to find its way onto his face. He'd missed this, truly. He's still wary, watching every utensil and ingredient Phil pulls out with scrutiny, and he catalogs every movement he makes, but he doesn't flinch- he doesn't cower. He's at peace- or what he thinks is relative peace, anyway.

"D'you think we can do this more often?" He whispered, eyes trained on the ground, finding the occasional scratch and chip in the wood far more interesting than whatever Phil was doing. There's a hand on his cheek and he follows its movement, looking into his dad's warm, ocean blue eyes.

"Of course, Toms," Phil smiled, swiping a thumb over his cheek gently, as if Tommy were going to shatter like glass. Perhaps a younger Tommy would have complained, would have protested at the prospect of being babied, but he wasn't that kid anymore. He didn't have that luxury. So, he leaned into the touch, thankful that Phil _was_ gentle and kind, with no requirements to receive such treatment.

"I love you, you know?" Tommy nodded, closing his eyes as he relished in the contact. Phil pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering there for a moment before he drew away entirely. He almost whined at the loss, but he withheld, choosing to just watch as his dad plated the fluffy looking, sweet berry waffles.

He hopped off of the counter, following his dad as he walked to the breakfast table on the other side of the room, plate in hand. As Phil sat down, he sat next to him, shoving himself into his side and under his arm. The avian chuckled, squeezing him tight before handing him his plate.

Looking at the fluffy, red spotted waffles, he almost broke down again. It really was like looking down at a piece of the childhood he'd thought of as lost. He grabbed one with a shaky hand, tearing a piece off, foregoing utensils entirely. He smiled to himself, the action more sad than anything. They'd always reprimanded him, growing up, for not using at least a fork when he ate breakfast, but he always preferred the ease of being able to rip bite size pieces apart. He raised the bite to his lips, hesitating for a moment before Phil squeezed his shoulder with a gentle hand. He plopped the piece in his mouth, biting down on the soft, spongy material. A tear slipped from his eye at the familiar, sweet taste of the waffle, and the melt-in-you-mouth feeling of the cook berries. It tasted just as it always had, and he wasn't sure if that comforted him or made his heart ache that much more.

"Thank you," he whispered, turning so he could bury his face in Phil's side, as well. Phil brushed through his hair with soothing motions, letting Tommy compose himself. He took a deep breath, trying to gather the pieces of himself he'd let fall from his fragile grasp before he turned back to his plate.

He ripped another piece off and plopped it in his mouth, not letting himself think about his childhood, and, more importantly, _him_. The meal was cool by the time he actually managed to finish it, but he didn't mind. He wasn't sure if he was even tasting them by the end anyway. The switch from being on the constant lookout for danger to feeling safe and cared for was jarring, and it was hard to get accustomed to. His mind was warring with itself, one part begging him to run, to leave the potential danger that Phil provided, another wanted him to cling to the avian hybrid and never leave. A smaller, more traitorous part, still screamed about Wilbur- still wanted him to _return_.

He stared, eyes vacant, at the empty plate, distantly feeling Phil pull him closer. He tucked his face into his side once more, as if it would block him from both the world and his own thoughts. The hand that had returned this hair was comforting, though, talons scratching lightly in all the right spots.

"Do you think you're ready to talk, mate?" Phil murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of his head. He thought for a moment, his mind still playing metaphorical tug of war with itself. In the end, he nodded, the movement slow and hesitant.

"What does Schlatt understand?" He questions, voice much lighter than the words would suggest. Tommy tensed, memories of Wil and both times in the prison running through his head, but he took a deep breath and shove them to the sidelines.

"He grew up with him, dad. Away from home- all the time. Wilbur likes to play games." He hoped he got his message across, because he wasn't sure if he could handle elaborating more than that. Maybe at some point in the future, he could talk about everything he'd been through- all that had been done to him- as if he were just recounting the weather. But, today was not that day, and the events still tore him apart from the inside out. He wasn't ready to talk- not really.

"I take it these games aren't very nice?" Tommy nodded, squeezing his eyes shut as an involuntary shudder coursed through his body, memories of the time spent alone with Wil in Pogtopia running through his head.

"He likes to change the rules. Disobedience means punishment. Punishment means- I don't like respawning, dad. It hurts," he muttered, already shaking like a leaf as he tried to desperately hold in the cries that threatened to escape. 

"shh," Phil soothed, his presence never shifting. "You're safe now. I've got you."

"I'm scared," he sobbed, gripping Phil's rove as if it were a lifeline. "I want- but I can't-" he stumbled over himself, his brain chugging far too fast for his lead heavy tongue to keep up with.

Phil stayed quiet, to which he was grateful for. He wasn't sure if verbal reassurances were what he needed at the moment. He wasn't sure if it would do much good. His brain was in shambles and he wasn't sure if he could ever piece it back together. Parts of it still remained with Wilby, others were trapped by President Soot. Others, still, were lost running around their childhood home, so far gone in a much happier past, and the parts that he did have, well, they were dark and rotting, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to keep them.

Still, he was grateful for Phil holding his shattered mind together nevertheless, with strong arms and warm wings.

"We'll fix this, Toms. I'll fix this." Tommy just shook his head. He didn't think he could get fixed. He didn't think that he _wanted_ to be fixed. 

"I- I promise that I'll make this right. I swear to you, Toms. I'll do whatever it takes."

**Author's Note:**

> so how the FUCK are we feeling about all that delicious finale angst???? I have yet to comprehend it yet, tbh


End file.
